Cruel Intentions
by The Bitch Who Died
Summary: Isn't it funny how we always want what we can never have? /or/ It wasn't for her. It was for me. And I'm a monster for that. \One-shot/ plot driven lemon :alternate take on Phoebe's a Clone Now: (Also on my Wattpad account, The0ddest0ne0fAll) [thundercest] [max/phoebe] R


Can I just say that I seriously moderate a _lot_ of reviews asking for a lemon and that this is plot driven? Good. I am. So, here's your damn lemon. It's inspired by the newest episode, _Phoebe's a Clone Now._

* * *

**wrong **_adj_ /rôNG/ the feelings i have for her

_They_ get to define what I drag my ass out of bed for every single day. _wrong._ I can hear the murmurs of whispering, the secret buzzing — no matter how many times I pinch myself. _it's not there — no one's talking.__ They_ would say.

Everything I want is "wrong" because of 46 chromosomes from the same 2 people.

Want.

That's the wrong term (there's that goddamn word again). Strong positive feelings, physical attraction, a profoundly tender affection _— why _can't I just say it?

_love. yours is sick._

* * *

She looks beautiful. She always does. But now . . . _God__,_ if I could say _screw everything _and just _ravish_ her . . .

_do you realize how _sick_ and _twisted_ and _fucked up_ that is, max?_

Shut up. I just want _them_ to shut the hell up. Wait. What the hell is she doing? Is she stirring her brownie mix with her calculator? God, she's adorable. So sweet and innocent and naïve and clumsy _— _it's all so endearing. So sweet and wonderful. Feeling this way about her, it's probably corrupting her, isn't it? _stop then, she deserves to stay so innocent __— you're a sick son of a bitch for loving her, putting her through that is cruel._

"Ooh, brownies, can I lick the calculator?" I tease. Teasing is friendly, teasing is brotherly, it's platonic, right? Even _they_ can't hate me for teasing her. _teasing or flirting? knowing how disgusting you are, it's probably the latter._

She freezes. Confusion is painted over her gorgeous face _— _she looks so . . . Perfect. Angelic. I barely even catch what she says. I barely even catch what I say back. I do hear something about cloning.

Cloning.

The DNA would be the same but . . . Would it still be wrong? Still sick? Disturbing? _of course it would be. the same __dna, maxy. it would be better but not _right.

Better. Better is good enough. And Phoebe doesn't have to know.

* * *

"Dr. Colosso, I need you to just shut up and ignore whatever you hear, okay?" I whisper. _god, this is sick. i guess it's better than the alternative though. _

"Ignore whatever I hear? What _exactly_ are you planning on doing, Max?" He's pushing too much. I can't tell him _anything. _Even a villain would think this is sick.

"Just, don't ask. Okay? It's personal," I mumble, "seriously, Colosso."

"Fine, touchy," he rolls his eyes.

I almost squeeze my eyes shut. It hurts. To realize how _wrong_ what I'm about to do is. _oh, so you _do _have a conscious?_This is killing me. But I need this. I want this. Every inch of my body craves this.

No matter how "wrong" it is.

Screw everything. I can't _really_ have her, this is the closest I will ever get to her.

* * *

"Wh _— _what are you doing?" She — well, not really her, _and that's a good thing, you'd be even sicker if it was_ — whimpers, gasping a little.

"Shh, just, go along with it, just this once," I murmur into her delicate skin. She's so small, so soft, so innocent. I'm a sick bastard for this. She would hate me for this.

I press my lips to the crook of her neck, gentle, light, sensuous. She shivers and whimpers, little gasps exiting her lips. "M — Max, this is wr — wrong."

_God. _Even her clone is morally uptight. _she's right and you know it, bastard. you shouldn't be forcing her into this._

"Well, maybe I'm sick of being right, Phoebe," I breathe out, directly into her ear. She shivers, goosebumps aligning her skin and I know this is wrong, it's been burned into my brain, but I also know that I want _nothing_ more. I press my lips to hers, moving my mouth expertly. I've done this too many times, _settled_ too many times. _settling is better than the real thing in your case. the real thing is too _disgusting_ for it not to. _

"Max — ah!" I peel her tank top straps down, kissing her shoulders and backing her up to the edge of my bed. Her fingernails dig into my back a little as I find her sweet spot — her right collarbone. _sick, this is sick. demented, disturbed — she's your goddamn sister! _But she's not. She's my sister's clone and it's good enough.

I take to teasing her covered hips by tracing little circles. She whimpers and digs her nails deeper. My mouth keeps working at her collarbone and my fingers keep dancing around on her jeans.

She pleads something, it's incoherent but I can tell she's begging for more. I push her down to the bed, my hands low on her hips. _wrong!_ _They_ keep screaming it. _wrong! she has the same dna, she's identical to your sister! _I don't give a crap. I've stopped caring, _she_ isn't my sister. She's her clone.

I dip my tongue into her mouth, playing, teasing. This is too damn addicting not to.

Nervously, she turns us over. It's slow, unsure. She straddles me, her hands on my shoulders and mine on her hips. A smile stretches upon my lips — _how cruel, it's sadistic to do this to _her _body, break _her _hymen._ She's on top of me. She wants this too. _she wants the poison you've force-fed her._ She . . . Shut up. I don't care. I don't. Society be damned — I need this. I love her and I can't keep imagining what it would be like! I just need to know.

She slowly leans down to kiss me again. Slow. Passionate. Not at all resistant. It makes me wonder. Does Phoebe _really_ have these feelings for me? Does _she_ want me? Her clone is supposed to be identical to her. Is it?

But she's kissing me as hard as she can and she's sliding my jacket off. My eyesight is blurry and adrenaline is pumping through me — _and that must be what's going through her mind _—and I can feel the blood rushing down.

"I love you," I breathe out as she leaves a trail of kisses down my abdomen. She says something back, I can't tell what, her lips are on my skin and her voice is muffled.

It doesn't matter.

I don't expect her to say it back. She knows it's wrong, she's morally uptight, beautifully innocent, adorably clumsy Phoebe. _and you're corrupting her._ She sits up straight on me, her face flushed. I pull her tank top off.

"Max. Please . . . Be gentle," she mutters.

"Of course," I promise, unhooking her bra strap. Her arms twitch to cover herself but I stop her. "Don't. You're beautiful. Inside and out." _so why poison her with this? it's wrong and you know it._ But it isn't _her. _It's the closest I can get to her.

She kisses me. It's gentle. Soft. Like her. And a pang of guilt hits me for doing this to her body. To her clone

And then she's entangling her fingers in my hair and my hands are busy getting rid of her jeans. It's skin on skin once she gets my pants off and my fingers are dipped into the waistband of her panties.

She moans slightly as I push my fingers against her core. She's wet. For me. I almost smile but I remember that I'm supposed to smirk.

"Aren't you excited?" I mumble into her ear, pushing her panties down.

"Sh — shut up," she snaps.

_are you deaf? have you not heard me? this is sick. you're using her body. you don't love her._

But I do. I love her smile and her eyes and the way she laughs and the dorky jokes she makes and the way she nudges me when I laugh at her for being a geek and her brains and her clumsiness — I love everything about her. Except the DNA we share. I hate that. I hate knowing that because of that little bit of DNA, I can't be with her.

And maybe that's why it means so much when I realize my boxers are off and her hands are wrapped around me. It's a slow, awkward pace at first. But I put a hand over hers and guide her. Faster and faster and it throbs more and more. She stops. Right. As. I'm. Ready.

I kiss her. Like she's never been kissed. Rough and passionate and lustful. I want this. I crave this. And damn it, she does too.

"Are you ready?" I mumble, "I promise, I'll be gentle."

She nods, her hands wrapping around the back of my neck. I position myself, ignoring the roar of disapproval, ignoring the genetics, ignoring society, ignoring the DNA. I need this. Even if it's just a clone.

I thrust in. It's a quick break, instant. She whimpers, wincing and pulling me closer.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, baby, it's okay. Max is here, I've got you, I'll wait until your comfortable to move," I tell her even though it feels so damn good. Even though I want to move so badly, her walls are so tight, so warm, so moist, it's perfect. I want to move. _God._ I wish I could. But she's hurting so bad right now. I can't stand to see her hurting like this.

_you're doing this to her. using her, hurting her, all for you. selfish._

I wish _they_ would just shut the hell up.

"Max," her voice is small, "you can move now."

"You sure?" I whisper.

She nods. So I do. Slow and steady at first, making sure to thrust in deep enough to hit the perfect spot. She breathes out, whispering my name and digging her nails in. So. Freaking. Sensitive. _what did you expect? you're hurting her, max._

"Faster," she breathes out in between gasps. I rock my hips quickly, in and out, in and out. She's incredibly tight, it's probably the most amazing feeling there is. But maybe if I can go faster, if I can go deeper . . .

She's screaming now. Screaming my name. _you're lucky the walls are soundproof. they'd all hate you if they found out. especially her._ I. Don't. Care. Deeper. Harder. Faster. Whatever she says. We're using protection. Who gives a damn?

"Oh, God!" She screams, her body going limp. And it can all come pouring out. After all, we're using protection. It's safe. I love her. _They_ can go to hell.

No matter how wrong it is.

After all, it's still not _really_ her. It never will be. The one I want the most is the one I can't have.

* * *

I wake up first. She's still snoring softly, cuddled up against me. I almost scream. Almost think I've snapped and screwed everything up. But I remember. And I shake her awake.

She yawns and stretches. It's adorable. It's innocent. And I've screwed it all up. I really have. For her. For her clone, actually. But still. It kills me to know that.

"Get dressed, Pheebs," I whisper.

"M'kay," she mumbles.

"You can't tell her, you have to act like you hate me and I have to act like I hate you — but I don't. You're her after all," I almost laugh. It's sick. I know that. I get what _they_ meant now. I took something from her. Even if it was just a version of her. I'm a sick, sick _monster._ Cruel. I'm cruel. I'm disgusting.

It's even worse that I want more.

"Oh, okay," she says, sounding crestfallen. And everything in me aches. I've done an awful, awful thing.

"I just need you to help her by being her at whatever she wants, okay?" I whisper. I have to make it up to her. Somehow. It'll take a damn long time. Will I ever be able to make it up to her? Her twin brother _touched_ her, saw her, made love to her. But is it love? Isn't it sick? I . . . God. "I'm sorry."

"I love you."

It hurts so much.

* * *

Hold back that follow or favorite,

And trade it for a review,

It'll serve as feedback & motivation for my writing tricks,

And otherwise, I might just slap you.

- Queen Alison the Obstinate


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